


Sounding of the Bugles

by JazzhandsMcLeg



Series: Amara "One-Punch" Jones [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Game: Destiny 2: Season of the Hunt, Gen, M/M, and a handful of other OCs, angsty but always eventually hopeful, everyone is doing their best okay, featuring my Guardian and her Ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzhandsMcLeg/pseuds/JazzhandsMcLeg
Summary: Osiris loses Sagira on the Moon. An errant fireteam finds her remains and reports back to the Tower, while Osiris himself requests assistance. Everything dominoes from there, affecting fireteams and individuals, old friends and new faces, the willing and the reluctant all alike.An opening salvo for Season of the Hunt, told in three parts and from several different perspectives.
Relationships: Female Guardian & Ghost (Destiny), Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny), fireteams being fireteams
Series: Amara "One-Punch" Jones [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832206
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	1. Statant

Gull, their fireteam’s forward, came back frowning from her scout ahead.

"Another ritual?" Carson assumed, slinging his machine gun down from his back in preparation.

"No. It’s a light. A Light."

"Down _here?"_ Lex asked, a little incredulously. It was a fair question. They’d burrowed deep into the Moon, following tunnels a long way down: this was solidly Hive territory, and other Lights were a rarity at best. But Gull nodded.

"In the middle of what looks like a ritual chamber—but if there was something else there before, it’s gone now. Kara thinks she knows what’s going on, but she wants confirmation."

Carson was mostly curious, ready to get to the bottom of the mystery—but in the back of his mind there was a growing sense of dread and awe and grief: Ghostie, putting together her own suspicions about Gull’s intel and clearly not liking them very much. 

_What is it?_

She didn’t answer, but her emotions in their bond spoke for her. He hesitated, sharing glances with the others, confirming the sense of unease they all felt.

But, he could see Lex thinking, they’d come down here with a job to do, and if they called off their mission now it’d better be because of a damn good reason. They should at least know _why_ they were calling it off, and one Hunter’s report of a mysterious Light plus dire but unvoiced Ghostly suspicions wasn’t enough information to make a solid call.

"Show us," the Titan said.

\---

"I just can’t figure out how to get them to stick," Amara complained half-heartedly, dropping down into the snow by the fire and gesturing at the wall of ice—a grenade she’d playfully tossed in the Drifter’s direction as he stretched his legs a short distance away. It had performed exactly like every other Stasis-powered grenade Eris had ever produced or seen produced, which was to say, it hadn’t stuck to its target. The Drifter had simply walked away from the explosion, preening at Eris’ exaggerated show of disappointment and the Stranger’s silent scoff.

"Void, yes, Solar, yes, but not Stasis," Amara continued as the ice crackled and splintered apart. Some twenty yards away now, the Drifter whistled an aimless tune. “Frustrating.”

"Void and Solar, but not Arc?" Eris prompted.

"...No, actually. Not Arc. But I don’t use Arc much these days."

"Then perhaps you should consider your reasons. When does familiarity become complacency?" She thought back to her own use of the Light. "What are your relationships to different types of power, and to what you can and cannot control?"

Amara tilted her head. "Huh," she said. "I’ll have to think about that. But also, maybe there’s something—in Arc, at least—that makes it less likely to stick to one place, to one target like that? Lightning wants to—oh. The Commander?" 

Her helmet obscured her face and any expression it might have shown, but she tensed in place and shot Eris an apologetic shrug. Eris gave her an acquiescent nod in return: duty always called. 

"Ten seconds," Amara said to her Ghost, then raised her voice: "Elsie? Do you mind if I—"

"Go ahead," the Stranger said over her shoulder. Amara was already standing, brushing snow from armor as she turned toward the shelter.

"Thanks. Okay, patch me in. Commander, what’s—" The door hissed shut behind her, cutting off the swirl of warmer air that had escaped when she’d neared. Eris was left to watch the Drifter’s calisthenics and wonder, absentmindedly, whether the Stranger would accept her true name in general use, or whether Amara had yet again become the exception that proved the rule.

\---

The foreign power pinning him to the wall dissipated, suddenly and completely, in the wake of Sagira’s Light. He slumped to the floor, then scrambled to his feet, favoring his left side and lightheaded with a complex of emotions he could hardly sort out from one another, let alone name or voice.

"Sagira!"

Ribbons of Light, translucent green and blue and gold like a miniature aurora, emanated from a radiant central point not too high over his head. They shimmered and danced, parting the cavern’s oppressive atmosphere like flimsy curtains. There was no response to his call, not even a change in the strength of the light. An ogre bellowed somewhere in the distance. He paid it no heed.

_"Sagira!"_

\---

They moved cautiously into the chamber that Gull led them to, the Hunter still taking point with Lex as rearguard. It was, as reported, empty except for a shining Light above their heads—and a good thing, too. As soon as they got a good look it, Lex winced and put one hand over his heart, while Carson shuddered as Ghostie’s grief pierced straight through him.

"Yeah," Gull said grimly, reading their reactions. "Kara was right. That’s a Ghost."

"What _happened_ here?" Carson wondered aloud. _Ghostie, can you—? Anything?_

_Give me a minute..._

Lex was looking around, shuffling gingerly from one side of the room to the other. It wasn’t very large, but there were a few pillars here and there, creating lees and corners that couldn’t be observed from the entrance. He peered into all of them in turn, then came back to Carson and Gull, shaking his head, still with one hand pressed over his chest. 

"No body."

Carson felt a gathering of willpower, and then Ghostie compiled in front of him and floated up to inspect the Light. She circled it once, then lit it up with a scan.

"We didn’t pass anyone on the way in," Gull said.

He looked around the room, half an eye still on his Ghost. There were no obvious exits, but signs of recently moved stone suggested that there had been not long before. He pointed this out to the other two, then added, “We need to report this to the Vanguard. If anyone’s gone missing all the way down here, they’ll need more than three Guardians prepped mostly for recon to get them back.”

"If they even send out a rescue mission at all," Gull muttered.

"We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it," Lex said, answering the Hunter but looking at the Warlock instead. Carson said nothing, only nodded.

"We may not," Ghostie said, dropping back down from the ceiling to hover close to her Guardian. "She produced a massive burst of Light when she died—like a star entering supernova. The radius is—is stronger and wider than usual for this sort of thing. I’d say there’s perhaps an eighty-five percent chance he escaped."

"Is there anything we can do for her?" Gull asked.

"No," Ghostie said sadly, and decompiled.

"She? He?" Lex prompted.

Ghostie wasn’t coming back out to answer any more questions. "Sagira," Carson said instead, voicing her findings for her. Shock was evident in his voice, and mirrored in the reactions of his fireteam. "And her Guardian, the Warlock Osiris."

\---

"Eris? Do you have a minute?"

She turned on her heels, looking up and back. Amara stood in the shelter doorway, letting warmth rush out past her. She’d taken her helmet off, and beneath the flush of cold on her cheeks her face was pale and set.

Eris stood and stepped into the Stranger’s shelter, pulling her scarf down so she could breathe more freely. When she’d entered, Amara had retreated to the table that took up the center of the room; now she gripped its edge with one hand, clearly grounding herself. Her face had not regained its color. 

"You have bad news."

"Osiris was scouting the tunnels beneath the Scarlet Keep last night. He lost his Ghost," Amara said bluntly. "He left a message for Zavala requesting my immediate backup in getting to the bottom of it. I’m leaving for the Moon."

 _Beneath the Scarlet Keep last night. He lost his Ghost._ Eris nearly missed the end of Amara’s explanation in the sick rush of emotion provoked by those words. It had been a long time since she’d lost her own Ghost and Light to the Moon, and the pain could not blindside her any more. Still, it was strong enough that she felt the need to support her own weight on the table. 

"Eris—I’m sorry. I could have been more tactful."

"No. At a certain point, tact only prolongs the inevitable advent of pain." She composed herself with effort, then dropped her hand from the glass and stood very straight. "You’re worried."

Amara’s mouth quirked at that, a quick half-smile with absolutely no pleasure behind it. "I am. For him, and...I don’t quite trust him to..." She trailed off and looked out through the shelter door, suddenly distant. Her train of thought was obvious.

"To refrain from doing something we all might regret," Eris finished.

Amara turned back her. Her gaze as it rested on Eris held trust and assurance, concern and thoughtfulness; the mixture made the weight of her regard a bittersweet one. "Yeah. Yeah, exactly." 

"You must not let your fear overwhelm you," Eris cautioned. "Osiris is a seasoned warrior, and an old one. Like the phoenix he patterns himself upon, he may yet rise again." Amara bowed her head, looking appropriately chastised. She softened. "But what Osiris faces now is a trial for any Guardian, and the loss of such a powerful Light heralds darker days for us all. Your concern is also to your credit."

The Titan raised her eyes and nodded, but did not seem comforted. There was a tense silence. Then Amara sighed, a short, stressed exhalation. "I’m sorry," she said again. "When I find him—is there anything I should tell him?"

A dozen options immediately ran through Eris’ mind for consideration, as well as another half-dozen she dismissed at once. But there was no time: no time to sift through her emotions, no time to find some piece of advice not only helpful but brief and not too revealing to give to Amara, no time to save Osiris—as always—from himself. All she could do was leave the door open. 

Yet not, she realized, _too_ open. 

She had already written to the Warlock with an update on her whereabouts; apparently the news had not reached him, or surely she would have been consulted before he descended beneath the Keep. She could only hope, cruel and ironic as it was, that her missive had been lost forever when its messenger had fallen. Osiris could not come to her on Europa. Not now, only hours after losing the Light; perhaps not ever.

"Tell him..." she began. "Tell him I will be back on Luna soon, and more frequently." Would that be enough? "He is welcome to wait for me there."

Amara nodded and stepped away from the table, but did not leave or transmat away. Instead, she fidgeted for a moment, then asked, "Do you want a hug?"

 _"No,"_ Eris said immediately. Amara nodded again, face respectfully neutral, then turned to leave. 

"—Amara. Wait."

She turned again. Eris reached out a hand; Amara took it first in one of her own, then in both, squeezing it firmly. Some of the strain left Eris’ shoulders, almost despite herself. She returned the pressure, then let go.

"Be _careful,_ Guardian."

"I will," Amara promised, accepting the charge laid upon her with the gravity its many nuances deserved. She turned once more toward the doors, and this time did not look back.

Eris watched as Amara stepped outside, pausing for a brief conference with the Stranger and lifting a hand in farewell to the still-distant Drifter before transmatting away. Then she turned to the table, resting both her hands on its glass surface and staring down through it at her booted feet.

Another Guardian rendered Lightless by a Ghost’s sacrifice in the bowels of the Moon. The thought might have been enough to make her weep, had her eyes still been human. It was a horrible, traumatic fate, one she would never have wished upon anyone—and yet, knowing that someone else had suffered it brought her a strange, not-unwelcome sense of relief. 

That, too, made her wish for tears, but Eris pushed the impulse away and took a steadying breath. There would be time to sit with that, to turn it over in her thoughts and come to terms with what it meant for her and for Osiris. For now, she thought briefly of Ikora, two of whose closest friends now shared a vanishingly rare experience made only slightly more common by the Red War. She thought of Savathûn, who was surely a beneficiary of this latest turn of events. She thought of Brya, and Sagira, and all the other Ghosts whose broken shells and fading Lights peppered the Moon’s dust—many now accompanied by the Nightmares of their dead Guardians. And she thought of Amara: forever charging into things she didn’t understand for the sake of the love she bore her friends, often escaping them because of the reciprocation of that love.

Then she pulled her scarf back up over her mouth and nose, and returned to the fireside and the company that waited for her there.

\---

The man who emerged from the Scarlet Keep was a very different man from the one who had entered it just a few hours previously. His robes were ripped and rumpled, dotted here and there with blood, powdered with dust and fragments of chitin. He gripped a shotgun in hands that showed white at the knuckles, ready to fire it or wield it as a cudgel at a moment’s notice. He was not weeping, but his breath was fast and harsh. He stumbled and hissed as his movements tugged at fresh wounds.

But he emerged.

They’d—she’d—he’d left the ship in a cave, one too small to hold enemy activity, located a short distance from the gates of the Keep. Or so it had seemed when transmatting had been an option. Now a great stretch of open land, filled with Hive patrols, stood between him and whatever temporary shelter a ship could give.

He would cross it. He took as deep a breath as he dared, wincing as pain flared in his ribs, and crept out of cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter 2 out probably tomorrow or Sunday.


	2. Passant

They bivouacked in place, posted Lex as a lookout at the chamber entrance, and hailed the Tower using the specially boosted radio unit they had brought along for that express purpose. As the only member of the fireteam still in possession of an intact working relationship with his Vanguard, Carson soon found himself explaining the whole thing to Ikora.

 _“I see,”_ was all she said when he finished. Her voice was stoic but soft and tired; the pain in it made him grimace in sympathy. _“Well,”_ Ikora continued after a brief pause, _“I’m pleased at least to tell you that you’re not the first to bring this to our attention. Shortly after you entered the Scarlet Keep, Osiris messaged Commander Zavala from his ship and reported the event himself.”_

"He made it out?" Gull asked.

_“Yes. He made it out.”_

Carson cleared his throat. "How should we proceed, Vanguard?"

There was another pause on the far end of the line, its tenor now reassuringly calculating. _“Fireteam Echo-Charlie Twelve. You were on recon for the last of Crota’s brood?”_

"That’s correct."

_“Hm. Take whatever recordings and measurements you deem necessary from your current location, then return to the Tower for debriefing and evaluation. Since you’re already aware of these...developments, we may have follow-up missions for you.”_

"The Tower?" Gull said, a touch disapprovingly. Carson frowned at her, but she pretended not to see. On the other end of the line, Ikora sighed.

_“I’m sorry, Hunter. But this is about more than old wounds or ongoing disagreements. Any further discussion we might have would be confidential and far too important to trust to any comm line. And we will need help. From all of you, if you are willing to give it.”_

Wordlessly, Gull unfolded from her crouch and walked away to join Lex. Carson shook his head, then turned back to the radio before the silence could grow too long.

“We’ll sort this out, Vanguard,” he said to it. “I can’t speak for my fireteam, but you can expect me in four to five hours plus transit time.”

 _“Thank you, Warlock Carson,”_ came the response. _“We’ll look for you then. Signing off, Eclipse on Tower.”_

"Ikora," he blurted.

_“Yes?”_

"I'm sorry. About all of this." Beat. "It's a mess."

 _“It is. Thank you. —I am, too. Signing off,”_ she said again, _“Eclipse on Tower.”_

"Signing off, Echo-Charlie Twelve under Sorrow’s Harbor."

\---

There was no time to talk until they'd transmatted up to their ship, until they’d rushed through the pre-flight checks as quickly as they’d dared and Clementine had set a course for Sorrow’s Harbor. Then there were several hours in which to talk. Hurry up and wait.

Neither of them tried to take advantage of this time immediately. Instead, Amara leaned forward with a sigh, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Clementine hovered wordlessly nearby, his eye downcast.

Finally, after about half an hour, he asked, "Guardian...are you all right?"

She didn’t look up. "As much as I think I can be under the circumstances."

This wasn’t quite the answer he was looking for. "It’s just...the last time something like this happened—and now, with the Darkness..."

"I'm fine, Ghost."

"You always try to be," Clementine allowed, letting the sting in her voice pass unmentioned. "But I worry about you anyhow."

Amara looked up to give him a rueful little smile, then propped her chin on one fist so she could watch him. "I know. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I just...I’ve been thinking about it this whole time. It’s been good, more or less, to see Variks again. And I feel a lot better than I did. I do think things have changed since—Cayde. But this would be a really, _really_ bad time to find out that I was wrong."

"I believe in you, Amara."

She nodded, but she didn’t actually seem very reassured. "Yeah. Well. Light willing," she concluded with the tone of someone trying to convince herself to stop thinking about the alternatives, "we won’t be too late for Osiris."

As reluctant as he was to threaten Amara’s equilibrium any further, it was better to start planning for every eventuality now. Even so, it took him a few minutes to make himself say, "And what if we are?"

"...Then I’ll do what I’ve always done. I’ll keep fighting."

"You were going to do that either way," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Amara said distantly. "I guess I was."

Something was still wrong, then. "Guardian?"

"It’s nothing. Just—you didn’t like Sagira very much, did you?" And, when he said nothing for a beat too long, "I didn’t think so. It’s all right. I just want to talk about her."

Clementine hesitated, then sighed. "She _always_ had to have the last word."

"Light, she had some great comebacks." Amara nudged him gently. "Cut her some slack—remember who her Guardian is. I’m sure she needed every advantage she could find."

"Oh, I don’t doubt it."

"She was almost never serious. I remember once, right after you’d gone, I plowed through a cell of Vex and she accused me of showing off. She told me I could stop, she already liked me." There was a hint of a fond smile in Amara’s voice now. "She meant it, I think—"

"—she’d better have—"

"—but it still made me laugh. Then I went and died three minutes later, and she teased me for that, too."

"No respect for others’ emotions," he said.

"No time for dramatics," she corrected. "I think we have Osiris to thank for that, too. Traveler knows he has a flair for them. And a heart made of butter, buried _very_ deep down. A dangerous combination."

"All right, I know that’s just an analogy, but it’s so inaccurate it’s insulting," Clementine complained. "How bad do you think our understanding of anatomy is?"

She huffed a little at that, not quite laughing, but her mirth died almost immediately. Again, there was a pause while Amara stared out the window and Clementine cast about for something else to say.

"You don’t talk about it very much," he said finally.

"Hm?"

"While I was gone. The first time you worked with Sagira and Osiris."

She paused in the act of pulling her knees up to her chest to shrug at him. "I know you don’t like hearing about it. That’s okay."

Well, he could hardly deny that. Still. "I want to hear about it now. If you’ll tell me."

"Well...it was...weird. We didn’t get along at first. I was really shy, and worried out of my mind about you, and I think it annoyed her. And it seemed like she was always so condescending. We adjusted to one another and loosened up a bit after a few days, but even then sometimes I’d get used to the different bond, go for a few minutes, and then startle myself when she said something or unfused. That was awful. She never poked too much at it, though, or at how much I missed you. And I didn’t poke at how much she missed Osiris. It was all stuff like that. We had an understanding, and a good one, and we _did_ like each other—but that was it. Ghosts and Guardians...we aren’t really interchangeable."

That gave him a complex pang of regret and shame and relief. "Amara...I’m sorry. I’ve been very churlish about this."

She shrugged again, awkwardly so as not to lift her chin from where she’d rested it on her knees. "And maybe I should have said something before. But it’s over now. It’s done."

It was clear from her tone that Amara knew this was true of many things, good and bad both. "Yes," he agreed quietly.

Amara unfolded enough to cup him in one hand.

"You’re my Ghost," she said. "I love you." 

She let him go again, and he floated up to bump her gently on the side of the head. "And you’re my Guardian, and I love you too."

They spent the rest of the flight in silence, both constantly aware of at least one other pair whose members would never be able to say that to each other again.

\---

His ship, when he finally crawled into it, was just as he’d left it; of course it was. If he wanted it to change to match his new perspective, he would need to do the work himself. For a dizzying, endless moment, caught between two equal sources of pain, he almost screamed.

Instead, he dropped his shotgun, staggered to the pilot’s seat, and collapsed into it, closing his eyes and rubbing shaking hands over his face. He sat there for minutes or hours, mind a whirl, trying to plan—or even simply to _think._ The Darkness; the missing celestial bodies; the Hive; Xivu Arath and Savathûn; it all blurred together in his racing thoughts until he couldn’t follow them anymore.

 _He was pinned to the stone like a beetle to a card. Light spun out of him to the sword above his head. Sagira was_ screaming—

His breath caught painfully in his throat, and he flung himself to his feet, wild-eyed and reaching for the Light, before he was even fully awake. He spun, stumbling against the dashboard, to face an enemy that was not there with a power he did not have. Nothing happened: another shock to an already-overwhelmed system.

His breathing slowed only gradually, but finally he was able to take his seat again and return to the issue at hand. Pain and panic could not supply the rational consideration of events he’d originally hoped for, but they brought their own clarity, their own revelations. The simple facts of the matter were that he’d been all over the system by now, and seen—experienced—nothing more important than what was happening here, on the Moon. There was only one appropriate course of action for him. He had a chase to give, a nightmare to repay, and a grave loss to avenge. Anything else would have to wait. 

And, he thought as he reached for the ship’s disused comms unit, he knew exactly who to request for assistance.

\---

By unspoken agreement, they left their discussion of what to do about Ikora’s appeal for aid until they’d left the Scarlet Keep. This expedited their withdrawal and shortened the duration of their return trip, which was good because they then proceeded to debate the matter back to their ship, back to Earth, into Tower airspace, and then into Hangar Bay Four itself, all with absolutely no results to show for it. By now, with a scant half an hour to go until Carson was due for his debriefing and reassignment with the Vanguard—whether or not he was accompanied by the other members of his fireteam—everyone was starting to feel the pressure.

"I left the Tower for good reasons, _important_ reasons," Gull repeated for the third time, her voice hard with hurt as well as anger. "Cayde died. Fine. It was awful, but it happens. But for the Vanguard to leave us scrambling to find a replacement, and then turn the Tower into a—a political witch hunt while we all had to cope with Cayde’s death? No. I won’t be part of that. So they lost my trust and they lost me, and leaving me alone has been the only thing they’ve done since to make me think better of them. Now they want to recall that? Recall _me?_ Those bad choices and their consequences don’t go away just because of big doings on the Moon, or because the Vanguard wants them to. And," she tacked on, her voice rising, _"I wouldn’t need to explain this to other Hunters!"_

In their previous iterations of this argument, Gull had never reached this particular final blow; Carson, in turn, had always tried to back away from this line of reasoning toward something more neutral for them both. But they were running out of time now, and his equilibrium was as overtaxed as Gull’s own. Carson took the bait.

"You know what?" he snapped. "Fine, we’ll do this. You think you’re the only one with a precedent of pain?"

"Easy now," Lex said warily. Neither of his fellows heard him.

"Like this? Yeah. You’re not a Hunter, and you don’t understand. If that bothers you then maybe you should apply yourself a little more, _Warlock."_

Carson slapped his hands down on the arms of his seat and pushed himself to his feet. Gull immediately did the same, glaring down into his face with the advantage of her four extra inches. Undeterred, he shouted, "Don’t you _dare_ preach to me about mishandled loss! Here’s something Hunter instincts _apparently_ can’t tell you: _I was on Mare fucking Imbrium!_ I have seen things that, Traveler willing, you’ll never have to, and I was one of the lucky few who didn’t die for the dubious privilege. Every time I set foot up there I’m reminded of them. Some of those Nightmares have voices I _still_ recognize!"

"So you stayed on with them afterward because you were too afraid, is that it? And you still are! You want to huddle up in here and lock the doors behind you!"

"I _stayed on with them afterward_ because I was part of it! We all were, and we all still are! And I don’t run from my problems!"

"Mare Imbrium wasn’t your fault," Lex objected as Gull bristled.

"What? No, of course it wasn’t! That’s not what I’m— _listen._ " He had to take a deep breath and speak through gritted teeth, but he managed to continue with a little more composure. "When we went to the Moon that day, we didn’t act alone. We went with our fireteams and our friends, with the weight of the Vanguard behind us. And so many of us died there regardless."

For a moment, the ship was quiet. Gull eased back a little, her brow now furrowed more from intense attention than anger. Ghostie was a soft point of concern and steadiness in their bond. Carson sat again, leaning into her emotional support gratefully.

"If cohorts on cohorts of Guardians acting together can’t defeat something that powerful, smaller groups or individuals have no chance," he continued matter-of-factly. “Not against Mare Imbrium, and not against something that could take away even the Light of a Guardian like Osiris. That’s the simple truth. Our only chance to beat...whatever we stumbled into up there...is to stick together, take the directions given to us, do our best, and hope. I stayed after the Great Disaster because I recognized that in our defeat, and I’ve stayed in contact with Ikora ever since for the same reasons. I see the same conditions for success here."

"Cohorts—then what do you think we’ve been doing this whole time?" Gull challenged, a little fire returning to her voice. "You can’t tell me we haven’t made a difference, working together like this without the Vanguard giving directions."

"I would never say that. Of course we have," Carson said with genuine surprise. He looked up to meet the Hunter’s gaze. "And I know you were hurt after Cayde died, and you know I agree with a lot of what you said. I’m not trying to dismiss that. We aren’t the only ones who have to stand by one another. That’s the Vanguard’s responsibility too, and we all know they fell short. But Ikora was right: this is about more than that now. And this isn’t a simple recon mission any more, Gull. They’ll— _we’ll_ —need everyone we can get."

She hesitated, then fell back into her own seat with an explosive sigh, turning away from them to look out the starboard porthole at the hangar beyond.

_Time, Ghostie?_

_Seventeen minutes left._

How absolutely terrific. Well, that would just have to be as it was. Carson was out of arguments for Gull.

"What about you, Lex?" he asked instead. The Titan had been kneeling backwards on the pilot’s seat, resting his arms and chin on the headrest and listening to the debate in near-silence ever since they’d landed. Now he shifted a little, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"I’ll...come to the debriefing at least," he said reluctantly after a minute of further thought. "Mostly, I admit it, I don’t want to see the fireteam split."

"Love you too, big guy," Gull said without looking at either of them.

"But after that, if she decides she doesn’t want on board," Lex added after another pause just in case the Hunter had anything else to add, "guess I’ll go with whoever gets the shorter end of the stick. Two Lights in a dangerous situation’s better than one."

"...I don’t want to see the fireteam split, either," Carson said carefully.

"I know. But we all have to do what we think is right, and sometimes that’ll differ. Nothing to be ashamed of."

That got a tiny smile out of him. “Love you too, big guy,” he echoed. 

Lex shook his head, but Carson could tell he was pleased. "How I got stuck with a couple of saps for a fireteam—"

"Wait," Gull interrupted. Her voice had gone hard again, in a way that meant _someone’s in danger._ Carson and Lex instinctively straightened in their seats. "Wait a second."

"...Gull?"

"How long until the meeting, Carson?"

"Thirteen minutes now," he relayed, bewildered. "What—"

"All right, fine. Let’s do this. Drop the hatch, Lex."

"Gull—"

"Drop it!" 

Lex dropped it. Gull was shimmying down the ladder almost before it finished deploying. "Saint!" she shouted as she disappeared from view.

For a split second, Carson’s confusion lingered. Then he added two and two, got four, and felt the blood drain from his face in response. _Saint._ "Oh, no," he breathed, and scrambled for the ladder himself.

"Carson!"

The ladder wasn’t big enough for both of them to descend at once, but Lex caught up with him just a few steps from its base and halted him with a gentle but firm hand on his wrist. Carson tried to pull away with absolutely no success, his eyes fixed on Gull’s retreating back.

"Let her go," Lex said. "He deserves to know what happened."

"From a complete stranger?" Carson demanded, trying to reclaim his hand once again. Gull was still working to cross the busy hangar; if he hurried he could catch her before she made it to Saint’s ship. 

"As soon as possible," came the counterargument. "You know what they mean to each other. Better to have some time to come to terms with it. Osiris’ll need the help. And maybe Gull needs to do this."

Carson paused, remembering the way the Hunter had asked, despite all evidence to the contrary, _is there anything we can do for her?_ He’d been working beside her long enough to know that it was a classically Gull question: pain made her more withdrawn, yes, and angrier too—but also more kind.

He sighed. Sensing his capitulation, Lex squeezed his wrist reassuringly, then let him go.

"Well," he said. "We’d better go provide backup."

"Guess you’re right."

They caught up to Gull as quickly as they could. "Saint, I’m so sorry," she said just as they reached her. She glanced over at them as they stopped beside her, the smallest frown of challenge on her face; Carson nodded to her wordlessly. After a moment, she nodded back, her shoulders loosening a bit. 

"We were just on the Moon," she continued, returning her attention to the wary Titan she’d been willing to consider reentering Vanguard employ in order to address. "There’s been really bad news..."

\---

He stepped out of the shadows at Glint’s behest, tapping ichor and ash from his sword as he walked. The other Guardian had leapt up to the ledge when the Knight had appeared, rushing to defend Osiris with a flaming hammer. He watched it warily, but they made no move to attack; instead, they stiffened at his first step, fell back half a pace at his second. The light in their hand sputtered and died an unnatural death at his third.

He couldn’t see their expression through their helmet, but they had the tightly-wound look of an animal in a trap, and anyway he didn’t want to step on the Warlock still sprawled between them. He stopped.

"They call me," he said, "the Crow. My boss wants to see you."

 _"Impossible,"_ the stranger’s Ghost breathed.

"What is?" Glint asked with pointed innocence.

"Uh...nothing," said the other Ghost, and disappeared.

That was confirmation, then, though he hadn’t really needed it after the other Guardian’s reaction: here was another pair who knew him better than he knew himself. Crow disguised his weary irritation at this by jumping down to retrieve Osiris’ dropped weapon, taking his time and leaving the other two Guardians to mutter frantically to one another over his head.

He rejoined them once he’d ascertained the gun was undamaged, cleaned his sword as thoroughly as was possible while out in the field, had Glint confirm his guess that the new arrival was a Titan, made sure that there were no Hive currently nearby, and started to get impatient with the delay—and if _he_ was impatient, the Spider certainly was. It was time to move. 

Fortunately, Osiris and the Titan seemed to have sorted themselves out fairly well in the space he’d made for them: when he landed on the ledge and took in the scene at a glance, he was relieved to find no yelling, no pacing, no weeping. The stranger’s back was to him; as he watched, unnoticed, they reached out and took Osiris by the shoulders, shaking him briefly but bracingly before releasing him again. The gesture was reassuring, concerned, perhaps a little exasperated but clearly from a place of fondness. Crow had to look away.

They didn’t say anything. Osiris responded regardless. "I’m fine. And we’re wasting time. I have an appointment with the young man and his employer."

Crow looked back in time to see the Titan turn to face him, keeping themself between him and Osiris. "Absolutely not," they said firmly. He kept quiet, unsure which of them they were talking to until they added, "You need to go back to the City."

Osiris crossed his arms—a useless gesture, since the Titan still faced the other way. "You presume to tell me what I need to do."

"Here? Yes," they said. _"I’ll_ speak to the Spider. I can at least start to take care of this. And we have a lot to discuss." They actually managed to make it sound a little threatening. Crow might have been impressed by this if not for his wasted chance at the High Celebrant, this stranger’s not-uncommon-but-still-unpleasant attitude, and the fact that he’d technically be disobeying orders if he brought them with him.

But, he found, he couldn’t hold any of that against Osiris. He’d never interacted with a Lightless Human before. But he knew how exhaustion, grief, and pain manifested themselves in a person, regardless of the Light’s presence or absence. Despite his proud speech and ostentatious appearance, Osiris drooped with all three.

And it was no wonder: he’d just lost his Ghost. If he lost Glint...

Oh, he was going to regret this.

"That would be acceptable," he said, and held out the gun he’d retrieved, careful to point its muzzle toward the empty hall. The stranger moved aside, clearing a path for Osiris, who hesitated—then sighed and stepped forward to reclaim his weapon.

"I suppose I should thank you both."

"Forget that. You have a ship. Can you transmat?"

"I’ve lost my Ghost, not my engineering skills."

The Titan made a little _go on, then_ motion with one hand. "I'll keep you informed."

"Do. And Guardian— _don’t_ do anything rash."

After a moment the stranger sighed. "Yeah, I know," they said. "All right."

Osiris nodded to them, nodded to _him,_ took something out of his robe, pressed it, and was gone before he could so much as return the gesture. Without ceremony, he was left standing in the depths of the Moon with a potentially hostile Guardian and none of the things he’d been sent out for.

"I...take it you’re familiar with the Shore," he said after an awkward pause. The stranger crossed their arms and nodded. "Then I’ll—meet you there?"

"I don't say things I don't mean," they said. This also managed to sound like a threat. Crow held out his hands in an Eliksni sign of placation, remembering only at the last second to modulate the gesture into something a little more in tune with the Human instincts he’d been reborn with.

"Then I’ll meet you there," he amended, and began to back carefully away.

"Wait."

"Guardian, the Spider—"

"I’m Amara, and my Ghost is Clementine," she interrupted. It was the third time in their short acquaintanceship that she’d apparently attempted to threaten him through tone of voice alone.

"That's...good to know," he said.

"And you’re Crow. And your Ghost’s name is Glint?"

"Yes, that’s his name." He couldn’t have kept the warmth out of the statement if he’d tried. "Now if we could...?"

Without another word, Amara transmatted out of the tunnel. Crow stared at the spot where she had been, nonplussed.

 _Well! I think that went all right,_ Glint said cheerily. 

He only shook his head. _The Spider is waiting. Transmat ready?_

_Firing._

\---

It was far into the small hours of the morning when he docked at the Tower; the hangar was dark and quiet, all but closed. But Saint still stood in the small ring of light outside his ship, his head turned to gaze at the City or the Traveler, his arms loose at his sides—evidently he had been informed of the news.

He had rested very little, and that usually unintentionally, since losing Sagira. It had always been his way, and now...his work was more important than ever. But he had burned through his reserves with alarming rapidity under these new circumstances, and he was deeply weary, exhausted as he had seldom been even after desperate battle or weeks of research. He could have fallen asleep in his pilot’s seat and stayed there for at least a day. The idea was tempting.

But Saint was out there, waiting for him. Somehow, with that knowledge, he found it in himself first to stand, then to leave his ship. Cross the hangar. Lower his scarf. Speak.

"Saint." It was the only thing he could think of to say. 

_"Osiris."_

Almost before he knew what was happening, Saint had turned toward him, closed the distance between them, and taken him into his arms. This was...eminently acceptable. He rested his hands on Saint’s belt and his face on the smooth planes of his breastplate, and he let himself be held.

"Osiris," Saint said again after some indeterminate time. His voice was very gentle. "I am so sorry. Come inside—you need to rest."

"Mmm."

"No, none of that. With me, now."

Careful hands eased him back onto his own feet, led him up a few steps, then set him down on a soft, flat surface: the ship’s bunk. He leaned against the hull, quiescent and dazed but clinging stubbornly to consciousness, as those same hands drew away his boots, his helmet, his gauntlets. They guided him into a horizontal position, dabbed the cooling saltwater from his cheeks—and then withdrew. He made an inarticulate noise of disapproval at that.

"I will return, my heart. I must only remove my armor."

He drifted. After another nebulous interim, a weight joined him on the bed and settled a blanket over them both. He fumbled for a fistful of Saint’s nightshirt and tugged until a warm arm wrapped itself around his shoulders and pulled him close.

Then, at last, he heaved a sigh and let sleep drag him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Final chapter maybe Tuesday, probably Wednesday.


	3. Courant

"Let me make sure I have this straight. We’re walking into dangerous, mostly-unknown situations where we won’t even be able to contact each other...and you’re still splitting us up?" Lex asked once their missions had been outlined for them. Ikora looked back at him from atop her Omolon-supply-crate-turned-stool.

"We’d hoped to, Titan, yes. We face the unknown on two fronts, and we are...stretched thin. I have no doubt that the three of you could make an impact on either the Shore or Europa, but by dividing our strengths like this I am equally certain that you can act efficiently in both locations. As for the closed communications, that really wasn’t to plan. Unfortunately, the radiation on Europa is more potent than most of what we’ve encountered in the past. Only the Tower’s stationary units can connect with anything remotely like reliability; most of the time, field-to-field comms and even Ghosts simply stand no chance."

Lex was a Titan; he understood the importance of good tactics and the myriad ways in which they could easily go awry. He nodded and subsided, at least for the time being.

"But _I’m_ the one with experience with the Tangled Shore," Gull said next.

"Yes," Ikora agreed at once; Gull was not the only Hunter who had gained said experience after Cayde’s death. But there was no dryness or bitterness in her voice, which Carson appreciated for his teammate’s sake. "But I think you and Warlock Carson will be needed on Europa, Hunter."

Gull frowned, but, now that Ikora had had a chance to explain the reason for the fireteam’s recall in person, she seemed more thoughtful than upset. Maybe she was remembering that she’d never been to Europa before. "All right. I’ll do it."

"Warlock Carson?"

"I have no objections."

"And no questions? You surprise me, Warlock."

He bowed from his perch on top of his own crate. "I will endeavor to answer them for myself, Vanguard."

"Hm," she said, looking at him for a long moment. He returned her gaze, unconcerned. If she hadn’t wanted him to poke around and form his own opinions, she wouldn’t have brought him, or any of them, in on this—unless the Vanguard were truly desperate, but he’d really prefer not to think about that. 

"I imagine you will," she said at last. He relaxed at this tacit bestowal of permission, but Ikora wasn’t done yet. "Be _careful,_ Warlock. Your Ghost should be able to reach the Tower from Europa’s surface, but I’m giving you—all three of you—emergency contact units just in case. Message me whenever you need."

"...Yes, ma'am."

"And you, Titan Lex-14?"

Lex had been watching Carson out of the corner of his eye, his head tipped to one side; at the sound of his name he snapped to attention. 

"If my fireteam is happy, I’m happy. I’ll report to the Shore as requested, Vanguard."

Ikora nodded. "Thank you—all of you. It really is greatly appreciated."

She stood, ending the meeting, and waved them away when they tried to help her return the supply room to its former state. Thus dismissed, Fireteam Echo-Charlie Twelve trooped back up the stairs to the Bazaar and headed for the Courtyard to prepare for their assignments. As they neared Banshee’s booth, however, Carson slowed to a halt, dropping out of formation with his fireteam. 

"Is everything okay, Carson?" Gull asked immediately, breaking off her stream of advice to Lex about working solo in the Tangled Shore.

"Yes. You go ahead," he said, calling the lift that led down to Commander Zavala’s office. "I’ll catch up in a minute."

Lex and Gull shared a look. 

"Does this have to do with why you Warlocks were acting so cagey in that meeting?" Lex asked bluntly.

"Well, I wouldn’t say we were..." As one, Hunter and Titan crossed their arms. "Yes," he said, giving in.

"Then I’m coming, too," Gull declared, marching back to join Carson on the lift. Lex said nothing, but was only a step behind her.

"All right," said Carson, "but be quiet. Act casual."

"Those don’t really go together," Gull mumbled, making Lex snort, but they rode down in well-behaved silence and disembarked neatly.

Zavala’s handsome wooden office door was closed. Lex still stopped after just one step into the anteroom, clearly unwilling to go any nearer. The office lights were on, though, so Carson kept going, with Gull a curious presence just behind him. They walked to the door and stood in front of it as though debating whether to knock or to wait; then ‘decided’ to return later and walked away again. Carson sneaked a glance through the tiny window that framed the door as they passed and saw Zavala, standing with his back to them in front of the floor-to-ceiling window that served as the office’s southern wall. Paperwork littered his desk in neat but overlapping piles, and giant holoscreens had been set up, blocking some of that gorgeous view. He counted at least two frames present. Then everything was out of sight again.

"Well?" Lex asked as they left.

"He’s in there," Carson said. "He looks...busy."

"He always looks busy," Zavala’s fellow Titan muttered.

"Maybe he was running a strike or something," Gull suggested. "He looked like he was talking to someone."

"Well, that would explain why we didn’t use his office and why he wasn’t at our meeting."

"But?"

Carson hesitated, then smiled and shook his head. "Nothing. I’ve probably just lost my edge in the art of Warlock politicking—it’s been a while since I last spoke with Ikora."

"If you say so," Gull said dubiously, but let it drop. "So anyhow, Lex, when you’re in Four-Horn Gulch..."

\---

"Petra tried to warn me," Amara said numbly. "She said there’d been rumors."

"Why would we have believed them?" Clementine asked. "It sounded like a horror story from Old Earth folklore: the murderous dead walking again, back for vengeance..."

"I definitely _feel_ like I’m in one of those stories right now."

Uldren Sov, reborn. A living reminder of what she and the Queen’s Wrath had done only a bare handful of years ago, now possessed of the Traveler’s Light and all that that gift entailed. 

They had been the vengeful ones, not this brand-new Guardian. The man who had once been Uldren went by Crow now— _was_ Crow now. Even if he still had those piercing golden eyes, that way of speaking that put her hackles up...

But then there had been open pride and affection in his voice when he’d spoken of his Ghost. Glint, who so obviously knew of his Guardian’s past and just as obviously had not told him. 

Amara hadn’t lied, earlier. It had been years since Cayde’s murder. She’d had time to process, time to grieve, time to come to terms with her actions and consider her regrets. She’d come to understand some of what Uldren had been facing at the end of his life; come, even, to pity him a little. None of that alleviated the swirling mass of confusion, grief, anger, and fear that filled her now.

"Clementine," she cried, "what do I _do?"_

"Well, first of all," her Ghost said, coming to hover in front of her, "you need to modulate your breathing. In and out with me, now. In. Out. Good. In. Out. In. Out...it’s all right, Amara."

"It is _not,"_ she snapped, and lost her rhythm.

"No, I’m sorry. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out—"

They had to dedicate a few minutes’ work to it, but eventually her breathing stabilized, leaving her feeling shaky and drained but calmer. 

"There," said Clementine. He dropped to her hand and hovered over it pointedly; she flicked the heater up a notch, then acquiesced to his silent request, gently cupping his shell in her palms as she reacquainted herself with a more regular heart rate. Neither of them mentioned the frost that had begun to radiate from her, coating her gear with a thin layer of white. It would melt soon enough.

"I'm sorry," Amara said anyhow. 

"Don’t be. I was saying—it’s all right to feel the way you do. I’d be more worried if you didn’t, frankly. It’s already been quite the week."

"That’s no excuse for..."

"You remember what Eris said. I’ll speak more plainly: Stasis is a new form of power, with a new form of control," Clementine interrupted. "It will take practice to learn, just like the Light did—just like anything does. This is completely uncharted territory, and that always worries me, but I meant it. I’m not going anywhere. And I believe in you, Guardian: both your motives and your strength. I don’t like Stasis or the Darkness, and I don’t trust them. But I trust you."

Now tears blurred her vision. "I don’t deserve you, Ghost."

"Oh, stop that," he said, ticking his shell against her palm in embarrassment. "Of course you do. I just...are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you _can_ do this—this meeting with the Spider, and whatever comes of it?"

"Osiris can’t do it, so I have to," she said stubbornly if tearily, and swiped at her eyes with one hand. "Even if new Hive fuckery wasn’t a huge problem—and it is—I meant it when I said I wanted to have words with the Spider. And someone definitely needs to keep an eye on Crow."

"Then that’s the answer to your question. For the short term, at least. We’ll go to this meeting, hear what the Spider has to say, see if we can figure out what’s going on with Crow and the Hive. We can think about long-term options after that."

Amara didn’t necessarily like that plan. If Crow turned out to be bad news, she wanted to know sooner rather than later. But Osiris _had_ warned her not to do anything rash—which was hypocritical of him, certainly, but good advice nonetheless. "You’re right. Okay."

"Also, I’m messaging Lord Saladin," Clementine added. "You should talk to him the next time we’re on Earth."

Saladin, the lonely sentinel of the Dark Age. He’d have seen dozens of Lightbearers’ allegiances shift over the years—some for better, others for worse—and he understood, as few others did, how it felt to see one of your worst nightmares climb out of the grave in which you’d buried it.

"Good idea, Clementine," Amara said. "Thank you." She let him back into the air, and he came to hover by his usual spot over her shoulder.

"Of course," he said, and sighed. "Quite the week," he repeated.

"Yes," Amara agreed. First Europa and now this. She’d need all the help she could get.

She was just lucky to have friends who could and would provide it.

\---

Later in the morning, over eggs made in the Grey Pigeon’s miniscule galley, they argued about the future.

"I will not be coddled," he snapped. "I have work that must be done."

"None of us would dare to try it," Saint said—gravely, without pity. "But seven hours’ rest and a hot breakfast is not enough, Osiris. Will you tell me what happened, that you feel you must rush out again so quickly?"

_"Saint-14."_

"No. It is not just the loss of your Ghost. Perhaps you forget how well I know you, my bird."

Had anyone else—save perhaps Ikora—had both the perceptiveness to grasp the existence of a hidden truth and the gall to try to bring it to light, he would have been very surprised. Then he would have treated them to a display of such cutting invective that they would have likely never spoken to him again. But this was Saint. So he only clenched his fork in his fist and gritted his teeth before answering.

"It was my fault. That Sagira died. I engaged the Hive when she wanted to wait for reinforcements. She paid the price."

Saint absorbed this in silence for a long minute. "You know, I think, what she would say to that," he said at last.

"She would tell me not to wallow or waste time. To make it right instead, if I were truly to blame," he said. Tears swam in his eyes again; he blinked them back and stabbed angrily at the last of his eggs. "I know I cannot. Any course of action I take will be palliative at best. But I must see this through regardless."

"And you will," Saint said with conviction. "But you must let other Guardians fight for you now. Share your research, hear their reports, give commands and see them followed. Do not try to win this battle alone."

"And why not?"

"To set aside the most obvious answer?" Saint asked, and his demeanor softened into sadness for the first time. "Because Sagira would say these things, yes. But you have already forgotten that she would also tell you to let others help."

Saint was right. He hid his consternation behind hauteur. "You presume to tell me what my Ghost would say."

"I knew her. She was my friend."

The statement held no rebuke. Still, he felt a pang of regret. "She was."

Saint patted his hand—apology accepted—and continued. "You cannot carry every weight yourself. Not even the ones you are responsible for. There is nothing wrong with that, Osiris. Please, let us help you."

How best to explain the extent to which this suggestion was utterly anathema to him? "I am at a loss, Saint," he said quietly. "For so many things."

"I understand. At least a little," Saint said, and he knew it was true. "We will do our best to help with that, too, if we can."

He hesitated, then sighed. "Then," he said, "for Sagira and for you: I will try."

Saint reached over and brushed a thumb against his cheek. "And that is all I ask."

\---

 _"Eur_ -opa? What about _my_ ‘opa?" Gull said suddenly and apropos of nothing, with the pride of someone who had finally solved a complicated puzzle. As one, both Lex and Carson groaned, which only made her laugh.

"I _knew_ that would be a success."

"That’s a punchline, though," Carson pointed out. "What’s the start of the joke?"

She thought for a moment, then waved a hand. "Not important. I’ll figure it out later."

They stood in the hangar together not quite a full day after their debriefing with Ikora, watching as a Tower crew readied Gull’s ship—left hanging in orbit for a long time now, since they normally all used Lex’s instead—for its upcoming flight. Once it was fully prepared, Lex would leave for the Tangled Shore in his ship, Carson and Gull for Europa in hers. Until then, though, they had the chance to exist as a fully-realized Fireteam Echo-Charlie Twelve for just a little longer. 

Mostly they were using the opportunity to rib one another and chat about meaningless things, but a definite current of unease circulated the small group. Jokes fell slightly flat, and ripostes took longer than usual. Gull kept glancing toward the empty area where Saint-14 usually stood at this time of day, Lex’s arms were folded firmly across his chest, and Carson knew his own mouth was tight. Still, for the others’ sakes, they were all trying.

A crewmember broke away from Gull’s ship, jogging past them with a massive wrench in one hand and a sheaf of paperwork in the other. "'Bout another ten minutes, Hunter," they said as they passed.

"Thanks," she called after them, and got a raise of the wrench as acknowledgement. 

"I guess that means we should board," said Carson.

"Probably," Gull answered. None of them moved.

Finally, Lex heaved a sigh and did what had to be done. "Well," he said, reaching for Gull, "you two be careful out there."

"You’re the one without a partner," she protested, leaning in to complete the hug. 

"I know," Lex agreed. "I’ll be careful too. But I have a feeling...Europa’s gonna be the bigger job here." He and Gull separated, and Carson stepped in for his own embrace. "You keep those emergency transmitters the Vanguard gave you on. The Shore’s not so far. If you need me, you call."

"Same to you," Carson said into the taller man’s shoulder, then backed away. "The Hive are nothing to fool around with."

None of them could have been thinking of anything other than a Ghost’s fading Light buried deep in the tunnels of the Moon—only the most recent in a long line of casualties. But Lex simply nodded and stepped back.

"See you soon."

"Good luck out there," Gull replied. "Come on, Carson."

Carson raised a hand in farewell, then turned and followed Gull toward her ship. It had been docked in Hangar Bay Eight, about thirty paces away from the waiting area where they’d been standing. Carson counted each step in his head, and by the time they reached the ship, he was ready.

He and Gull checked their gear, checked the ship itself, and settled in for the flight with little fuss or conversation. Then, with one last look around the hangar, Gull opened a line to Tower Flight Control and navigated into the open air to the north of the City. A few minutes later they were nothing but a faster-than-light blur in the sky.

 _I have a feeling,_ Lex’s voice said in Carson’s memory, _Europa’s gonna be the bigger job here._

He’d long since learned to trust the Titan’s intuitions, even when they didn’t mesh with his own—and this one definitely did. A tingle of unease ran down his spine, and Ghostie echoed it in their bond.

They were as prepared as they could be, and there was nothing else to be done. Still, Carson checked his auto rifle one last time.

\---

After that first Wrathborn hunt, he expected Amara to leave the Tangled Shore immediately. She’d only prepared the lure once before using it, apparently eager to find out how it worked and see what they were up against; needing to go elsewhere to charge it further would have been the perfect excuse to get away from someone she very obviously feared and disliked. Instead, though, she came back to see him.

He was standing at the workbench, Glint watching over his shoulder as he fiddled with a handful of gun components and scraps, when she slipped into his—the Spider’s—storage room. She moved surprisingly quietly for someone wearing so much heavy armor, but that was not enough to fool a Ghost and Guardian who so frequently required secrecy in order to obtain safety. He didn’t even need Glint’s chirp of warning; he was already straightening and turning to face her.

He waited, but she didn’t seem inclined to begin a conversation. Instead, she held out one hand in a gesture he’d made countless times himself, and her Ghost—Clementine—appeared above her palm.

"Glint," he said courteously, "may I speak with you?"

"...Where?" Glint asked.

"Right here. But privately."

 _So it’s not a trap,_ he said when Glint looked to him.

 _She’s a Guardian, and an excellent one,_ his Ghost said. There was genuine worry in his voice. _She may not feel she_ needs _a trap._

_Then why try to separate us through a ruse, or try and distract you with conversation? Why not just ambush us? The Spider wouldn’t—probably couldn’t—stop her._

_That’s true..._

_Do Ghosts harm other Ghosts?_

_Not directly. Not usually._

_Then Amara’s the one you don’t trust._

_I want to! Especially if they’re going to work with us to stop the Cryptoliths. But—_

"It’s all right," Amara said now, breaking her silence. "You don’t have to."

_Your call, Glint._

Glint bobbed uncertainly by his head for a moment, then tipped forward to examine Amara and Clementine with care. Something he saw, or perhaps Amara’s previous assurance, seemed to settle him.

"All right," he decided, bumping Crow’s shoulder before floating a few feet away to hover over the boiler that took up the center of the small room. Clementine joined him at once, leaving the two Guardians to themselves. 

Again, he waited; again, Amara said nothing. She seemed to be contemplating her next action. Finally she lifted her hands to her helmet and removed it. This revealed the face of an Awoken woman with bright blue eyes, dark hair buzzed down to her scalp, and a deeply troubled expression: the first Human face he’d seen in months.

"I have some recon data from the hunt," she said carefully, "if that would be helpful to you."

He shook himself. "Any information is valuable at this point," he said. "We know so little, and the sooner the Shore is clear of these things the better off everyone will be."

Amara nodded, briefly fidgeted with her helmet, then tucked it under one arm and reached into a little bag tied to her belt. From it she withdrew a handful of data chips, each labeled CROW. She held them out, and he took them and set them on the table to analyze later with a nod of thanks.

The silence stretched out again. It was uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as bad conversation would have been, so Crow left it alone. Instead, for lack of anything better to do, he turned to watch their Ghosts. After a minute, he sensed, more than saw, Amara do the same. Neither Clementine nor Glint seemed to notice; they must have been too intent on their own discussion, which he could only assume was flowing more freely than their Guardians'.

"We never did figure out how to do that," Amara said at last. "Talk to each other through our bond, like you did there."

"You can’t talk to your Ghost?" he asked, shocked.

"No, I can. But only when he’s not corporeal."

"Ah." He considered this. "...Why do they call it a backpack?"

"Absolutely no idea," she confessed. "And I know a Golden-Age AI who calls it that too. I still haven’t figured out what _that_ means."

He turned to stare at her. "Wait. You _know_ a—"

She smiled at him then. It was small, almost shy, but its pleasure was genuine even though the troubled look never quite left her eyes.

"Yeah," she said. "Traveler’s Light, it’s a long story, but I’ll tell it to you sometime. If you want."

He couldn’t help but smile back at her. "Oh, I absolutely do." There was another pause, but this time he decided to take a chance on ending it. "You must have many stories to tell. Glint says you 'have several notable achievements'."

His gamble failed. "You could say that," Amara agreed, but her smile disappeared almost immediately. "Listen," she said, cutting off any attempt he might have made at saying anything else. Something in her tone told him to brace himself. "Do you need anything?"

That was...unexpected. "What?"

"If you do," she went on, looking intensely ill at ease but resolute, "let me know. I’ll help."

"Why?"

She broke eye contact with him to stare at the worktable instead; their Ghosts finished their conference and swooped back to their respective partners’ sides, but did not offer a distraction. "Mostly," Amara said at last, and met his gaze again, "because it’d be right."

"Uh," she added when he only blinked at her, "but now we should probably go and charge this thing for another hunt or two. Clementine?"

"Ready," her Ghost reported, and disappeared.

"I'll be back soon," Amara said to him. "Let me know. Anytime."

He managed a nod. She nodded back, then transmatted away, leaving him just as poleaxed as he’d been after their first interaction.

This time, however, Glint didn’t say anything. Crow looked over at him, eyebrows raised. _So. Was your conversation as disquieting as mine?_

 _Uh, well...surely it wasn’t_ that _bad?_

Glint’s composure had clearly received a shock, and so had his own. Even so, Crow had to smile at his Ghost’s unshakeable optimism. _It was mostly just...very, very strange. I suppose it could have been worse._

_That’s the spirit!_

_What did Clementine say? ...Glint?_

_...He said...they’ll be careful not to say anything about who you were before. And that they’re sorry they reacted so badly on the Moon. And that they’re available to—help with the Spider—as needed._

_...Huh._

_Crow...I think they want to be friends._

He was silent for a moment, weighing Amara’s earlier hostility and fear against the awkward earnestness she’d just displayed, Glint’s positivity against his own sense of caution, his desire for companionship against his Ghost’s concerns for his safety.

 _I’d like that,_ he said at last. _But I guess we’ll see._

_I really hope we do, Guardian._

Crow nodded, pushed away his hope before it could choke him, and picked up the data chips Amara had brought. _Well,_ he said, grateful to have something else to occupy them. _Until then, we have work to do._

\---

When he was ready, he returned to his ship.

It was cold inside, and very still. Only a little daylight strayed in from the hangar beyond; he switched the lights on more by feel than by sight before shutting the hatch.

Then he sat in the pilot’s seat and let the emptiness settle down around him. Here, away from Saint and Ikora, without research or missions operations to take up his time and attention, he ached for Sagira’s loss with a sharp, unblunted pain he could not feel anywhere else.

When he was ready, though, he set his grief aside. It would still be there later; he could pick it up, examine it, hold it whenever he needed to. For now, he was expected elsewhere. He exited the hangar and plotted a course for the Moon. 

There would be no arcane rituals at Sorrow’s Harbor or perilous explorations beneath the Hellmouth for him today. Perhaps there never would be again. But Eris had returned to her post—he had been careful not to ask after her erstwhile whereabouts too diligently—and so he went to speak with her and learn from her hard-won knowledge.

He meditated for the entire trip, searching for peace or purpose and finding neither. Still, it passed the time until the navigational unit told him he neared the final approach. He opened his eyes and guided the ship down to Sanctuary, to land upon the bare regolith just south of its plateau.

Then he sat there again in the emptiness and the cold, feeling terribly afraid.

Perilous? Arcane? No. But he had already learned that healing invoked monsters— _here there be dragons_ —as surely as injury did, if only in order to comprehend and excise them.

And yet: for all that he had experienced since his last visit to the Moon, he was still Osiris. He had always done what was necessary. This was no different—except, perhaps, in that he was finally learning to take his Ghost’s advice.

He was not ready. He stood and left his ship regardless, and he climbed the steep hill that led to Sanctuary, and when he crested it a friend was waiting for him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before Iron Banner came back last week. Yikes. Also, you may be able to tell that I'm worried about Zavala. That Traveler's Chosen lore? Yikes again.
> 
> Anyhow, thanks one last time for reading!


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